PTU (Johnnie To, 2003)

Lam Suet in PTU

Cast: Simon Yam, Maggie Siu, Lam Suet, Ruby Wong, Raymond Ho-Yin Wong, Eddy Ko, Lo Hoi-Pang, Jerome Fung, Frank Zong-Ji Liu, Chiu Chi-Shing. Screenplay: Yau Nai-Hoi, Au Kin-Yee. Cinematography: Chen Siu-Keung. Production design: Ringo Cheung, Jerome Fung. Film editing: Law Wing-Cheung. Music: Chung Chi Wing. 

One of Akira Kurosawa's best early films was Stray Dog (1949), in which a cop's gun is stolen, necessitating a frantic search for the weapon. Johnnie To must surely have had that film in mind when he made PTU, although he takes a very different approach to the search, laying bare the inner workings of the Hong Kong police force and its relationship with the gangs it battles. Unlike the anxious rookie played by Toshiro Mifune in Kurosawa's film, the cop with the missing gun is a slovenly veteran, Sgt. Lo (Lam Suet), who loses the gun when he slips and falls and is knocked out while giving chase to some young gangsters. The Police Tactical Unit, headed by Sgt. Mike Ho (Simon Yam), comes to his aid, hoping to recover the weapon before they have to report its loss to the authorities. The rest is a series of colorful and sometimes deadly encounters, made vivid by cinematographer Chen Siu-Keung's visions of the city at night, its shadowy streets sometimes garishly lighted by signs. It's a twisty, ironic, and decidedly antiheroic thriller.  

Mallrats (Kevin Smith, 1995)

Art James, Jeremy London, Jason Lee, and Brian O'Halloran in Mallrats

Cast: Jeremy London, Jason Lee, Shannen Doherty, Claire Forlani, Ben Affleck, Michael Rooker, Jason Mewes, Kevin Smith, Priscilla Barnes, Joey Lauren Adams, Ethan Suplee, Brian O'Halloran, Sven-Ole Thorsen, Art James, Stan Lee. Screenplay: Kevin Smith. Cinematography: David Klein. Production design: Dina Lipton. Film editing: Paul Dixon. Music: Ira Newborn. 

The success of his microbudget indie Clerks (1994) gave Kevin Smith the clout and the cash to make a more ambitious feature, but some think Smith was undone by his own success, overloading Mallrats with too much plot and too many extraneous characters and incidents. This comedy about the misadventures of two motormouth slackers is a bit too frantic and uninvolving, and some of its slapstick stunts centered on Smith's duo of Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith) are poorly conceived. There's a gross-out joke that's more gross than funny, a bludgeoning of an Easter Bunny that comes out of nowhere, and an encounter with a topless fortune teller (Priscilla Barnes) that belongs in some other movie. You kind of have to be a fan of Smith's better films, especially Clerks, Chasing Amy (1997), and Dogma (1999), to be in the frame of mind to put up with the misfires in Mallrats.   

Deep Cover (Bill Duke, 1992)

Jeff Goldblum and Laurence Fishburne in Deep Cover

Cast: Laurence Fishburne, Jeff Goldblum, Charles Martin Smith, Victoria Dillard, Gregory Sierra, Sydney Lassick, Roger Guenveur Smith, Clarence Williams III. Screenplay: Michael Tolkin, Henry Bean. Cinematography: Bojan Bazelli. Production design: Pamela B. Warner. Film editing: John Carter. Music: Michael Colombier. 

If nothing else, Bill Duke's Deep Cover is notable for casting actors against type. Some of it works: Jeff Goldblum's lawyer turned would-be drug lord is full of humorous self-assurance tinged with menace. But Charles Martin Smith never overcomes the actor's nerdy image to establish him as a DEA agent confident enough to ask a series of Black federal agents a shockingly racist question and to manage the perilous situation he thrusts the agent played by Laurence Fishburne into. As for Fishburne himself, the role came early enough in his career that he was still being billed as Larry, which he insisted on changing once his career took off. He holds the film together even when it sometimes threatens to get derailed by too many plot twists. Although the movie asks the right questions about the compromised motives and veiled racism behind the so-called War on Drugs, it's undermined by generic thriller conventions and some preachy moments. 

Stowaway in the Sky (Albert Lamorisse, 1960)

André Gille and Pascal Lamorisse in Stowaway in the Sky

Cast: André Gille, Pascal Lamorisse, Maurice Baquet. Screenplay: Albert Lamorisse. Cinematography: Maurice Fellous, Guy Tabary. Production design: Pierre-Louis Thévenet. Film editing: Pierre Gillette. Music: Jean Prodromidès. 

After the success of his short film The Red Balloon (1956), Albert Lamorisse conceived another aerial adventure on a larger scale. It became his first feature, Stowaway in the Sky, and also starred his son, Pascal. It's a fanciful tale of an inventor (André Gille) who develops what he thinks is a revolutionary ballooning technique. On the maiden flight, his young grandson (Pascal) manages to scramble aboard after clinging to the gondola at liftoff. The inventor reluctantly allows the boy to accompany him on the flight, and they set off on a series of adventures that take them over spectacular French landscapes from Brittany to the Camargue and into close encounters with the Strasbourg Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, and Mont Blanc. They're tracked on the ground by an assistant (Maurice Baquet), who gets into comic scrapes of his own. To get the effects he needed for the film, Lamorisse helped develop a shock-absorbing mechanism called Helivision, which eliminated the vibrations of a camera mounted on a helicopter. All of the aerial sequences were shot this way, including those that appear to be taking place inside the gondola of the balloon: A half-basket was attached to the side of the helicopter and the actors rode in it while filming took place. Although there is some dialogue in setting up the premise and advancing what plot there is, it's essentially a silent film. Jack Lemmon, who liked the film so much that he bought the rights to it,  added his own voiceover narration scripted by S.N. Behrman for the American release. I haven't seen it, but some who have think it detracts from the charm of the film, which is often breathtakingly beautiful. 

Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould (François Girard, 1993)

Colm Feore in Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould

 Cast: Colm Feore, Derek Keurvorst, Katya Ladan, Kate Henning, Sharon Bernbaum, Don McKellar, David Hughes, Gale Garnett. Screenplay: François Girard, Don McKellar. Cinematography: Alain Dostie. Art direction: John Rubino. Film editing: Gaétan Huot. 

The conventional biopic uses narrative devices that subject it to distortions and falsifications, so in an attempt to avoid those in his portrait of the life of Canadian pianist Glenn Gould, François Girard resorts to something like a mosaic or collage -- a bit like those portraits that are made up of dozens of smaller photographs. Gould was, above all, an eccentric and a master of technique, so the story of his life demands the eccentric technique of Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould. Certainly what we get from Girard's approach and actor Colm Feore's performance as Gould is eccentricity -- a man who even in a crowd is as solitary as we see him at the beginning of the series of short films, walking toward the camera across an icy vastness. What we don't get, I think, is much of a sense of Gould as musician -- the images and the talk overwhelm the music except on occasion, as in the one segment in which a string quartet plays one of Gould's compositions or in the Norman McLaren animation of Fugue No. 14 from Bach's The Well-Tempered Clavier. Gould loved talk, so some of the sequences are all talk. The chief criticism of Gould as pianist is that he was a master of technique, which suited the intricacies of Bach, but that he was so limited emotionally -- today, he might be diagnosed as somewhere on the spectrum of autism -- that he played everything as if it were Bach. For example, in the excerpt from Beethoven's Sonata No. 17 in D minor played in one segment, the cascading notes fail to evoke the emotions that give the sonata its nickname, "Tempest." Sometimes, the film seems more preoccupied with what other people thought about Gould, especially in the scenes in which he's hounded by interviewers, than in examining the man himself. 

Eastern Condors (Sammo Hung, 1987)

Cast: Sammo Hung, Yuen Biao, Haing S. Ngor, Joyce Godenzi, Chui Man-yan, Ha Chi-chun, Lam Ching-ying, Melvin Wong, Charlie Chin, Cheung Kwok-keung, Billy Lau, Yuen Woo-ping, Corey Yuen, Peter Chan, Chin Kar-lok, Hsiao Ho, Lau Chau-sang, Yuen Wah. Screenplay: Barry Wong. Cinematography: Arthur Wong. Production design: King Man Lee. Film editing: Peter Cheung. Music: Danny Chung. 

Blithely stealing from classics in the genre, Sammo Hung crafts in Eastern Condors the action film to end all action films. (If only.) The premise is that after the fall of Saigon, the retreating Americans left behind a missile installation that they now want to disarm, lest it fall into the wrong hands. So the American military recruits undocumented Chinese immigrants now in prison for a variety of offenses to be air-dropped into Vietnam to destroy the facility. If they succeed, they will be rewarded with American citizenship and a large sum of money. If this sounds familiar, at least there are more than a dozen of them and they're not particularly dirty. Eastern Condors is full of gags ribbing the Americans, as well as a few that wouldn't pass muster in an American movie, such as a volunteer whose stutter is played for laughs until it proves fatal. There's more gunplay than kung fu in Hung's movie, although it ends with a great martial arts standoff that's worth sitting through the rest of the movie for. Hung, slimmed down for the film, plays a more serious role than usual, but the movie is stolen by Yuen Biao as the wily Rat Chien and Yuen Wah as a giggling Viet Cong general modeled on some of James Bond's more epicene villains. 

Caught by the Tides (Jia Zhang-ke, 2024)

Zhao Tao in Caught by the Tides

Cast: Zhao Tao, Li Zhubin, Zhou You, Xu Changchu, Lan Zhou, Hu Maotao, Pan Jianlin. Screenplay: Wan JIahuan Wan, Jia Zhang-ke. Cinematography: Eric Gautier, Nelson Lik-wai Yu. Production design: Liu Weixin. Film editing: Yang Chao, Matthieu Laclau, Xudong Lin. Music: Lim Giong. 

I can't imagine watching Caught by the Tides without having seen Jia Zhang-ke's earlier films, particularly Unknown Pleasures (2002), Sill Life (2006), and Ash Is Purest White (2018), which introduced us to his characters, settings, and themes. The docufictional Caught by the Tides is part reprise of and part coda to those films. The first two-thirds of it are actually patched together with outtakes and footage from them, along with personal footage shot by Jia himself during their production, and then blended into a narrative centered on Qiao Qiao (Zhao Tao) and her sometime lover, the shady Guo Bin (Li Zhubin). The titular tides are those of Chinese history and society in the first quarter of the 21st century, sweeping Qiao and Bin apart and together again. They're also, in the middle part of the film, the tides of the Yangtze, as the immense Three Gorges Dam project transforms the geography of China. It's a film about "progress" and its human consequences, most human at its beginning in the industrial city of Datong, where the declining old city is being redeveloped. By the end of the film, which returns to Datong, the city has been transformed by technology into something glossier but less human. The plot, such as it is, involves Qiao's attempt to reconnect with Bin, who noticeably declines as she seems to grow stronger. If there's a failing in Jia's work, it's that his vision is too personal, too concerned with working out a commentary on the history of modern China, with a consequential loss of connection to international audiences. But the skill with which he works out that vision may also be his greatest strength.      

The Sandpiper (Vincente Minnelli, 1965)

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in The Sandpiper

Cast: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Eva Marie Saint, Charles Bronson, Robert Webber, James Edwards, Torin Thatcher, Tom Drake, Douglas Henderson, Morgan Mason. Screenplay: Martin Ransohoff, Irene Kamp, Louis Kamp, Dalton Trumbo, Michael Wilson. Cinematography: Milton R. Krasner. Art direction: George W. Davis, Urie McCleary. Film editing: David Bretherton. Music: Johnny Mandel. 

Cynically concocted by its producer, Martin Ransohoff, as a vehicle for Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton at the peak (or nadir) of their celebrated relationship, The Sandpiper steals its dialectic from the hoary old Somerset Maugham tale of Sadie Thompson and the missionary. Ransohoff set a team of writers, including former blacklistees Dalton Trumbo and Michael Wilson, to work on fleshing out his idea to tell the purloined story of a free-spirited woman and an uptight male. The best the writers could do was to lard the story with glitzy profundities, e.g. "Man is doomed by his myths" or "Man is essential to any concept of the universe" or "Saints tend to be myopic, whereas the atheist is almost always innocent." Burton looks especially uncomfortable mouthing lines like "I cannot dispel you from my thoughts," and Taylor has to say things like "Life always flies back to life if it isn't penned in." We get some relief from the tedious course of the plot, which anyone can see coming almost before the movie starts, with some lovely shots of the scenery at Big Sur. Otherwise, The Sandpiper doesn't even offer the delight of camp, since its stars are so uninterested in the story that they don't even bother overacting. 

Gidget (Paul Wendkos, 1959)

Sandra Dee and Cliff Robertson in Gidget

Cast: Sandra Dee, James Darren, Cliff Robertson, Arthur O'Connell, The Four Preps, Mary LaRoche, Joby Baker, Tom Laughlin, Sue George, Robert Ellis, Joe Morrow, Yvonne Craig, Patti Kane, Doug McClure, Burt Metcalfe. Screenplay: Gabrielle Upton, based on a novel by Frederick Kohner. Cinematography: Burnett Guffey. Art direction: Ross Bellah. Film editing: William A. Lyon. Music: Arthur Morton.

Deconstructing Gidget is an amusing pastime. This is a movie made four years after the publication of Lolita, in which Burt Vail, aka Kahuna (Cliff Robertson), a 36-year-old man, almost seduces Francie Lawrence, aka Gidget (Sandra Dee), a 17-year-old girl. (For another perspective, try to imagine Gidget being screened at the Jeffrey Epstein mansion.) Of course, the unmarried Kahuna also hangs around with a bunch of half-naked college boys. And Gidget has an androgynous friend called B.L. (Sue George) who claims to have a boyfriend we never meet. Eventually, to be sure, tomboy Gidget, who claims to be repulsed by the physical advances of boys, will succeed in the "man hunt" initiated by her other, more nubile girlfriends and land the handsome, hunky Jeffrey Matthews, aka Moondoggie (James Darren), one of Kahuna's male followers. It's a movie that launched sequels, a TV series, and a whole subgenre of beach party movies. But were we ever so naive as to take Gidget as just wholesome entertainment? 

Pilgrim, Farewell (Michael Roemer, 1980)

Elizabeth Huddle and Christopher Lloyd in Pilgrim, Farewell

Cast: Elizabeth Huddle, Christopher Lloyd, Laurie Prange, Leslie Paxton, Shelley Wyant, Elizabeth Franz, Robert Curtis Brown. Screenplay: Michael Roemer. Cinematography: Franz Rath. Film editing: Terry Lewis. 

Life is messy, but dying is messier. That seems to be the point of Michel Roemer's emotionally raw Pilgrim, Farewell. Kate (a compelling Elizabeth Huddle) is not going to let cancer take her without making a fuss about it, which involves lashing back at the well-meaning people, her physicians and family, who would like to make it easier for her. She's especially hard on her sister, Rebecca (Leslie Paxton), and her daughter, Annie (Laurie Prange), both of whom have problems of their own, even if they aren't fatal ones. Annie and Rebecca both collapse under Kate's pain-driven assault, but manage to recover with the aid of Paul (Christopher Lloyd), the man Kate is living with. There are times when I felt that Roemer had crammed too much backstory into the lives of her characters, bringing a whiff of melodrama into what is mostly a serious film. And he makes Paul just a little too sturdy and patient in dealing with the women who are acting out the crisis of Kate's illness. (The film was made before Back to the Future (Robert Zemeckis, 1985) established Lloyd as a comic character player, specializing in eccentrics. I wish we'd seen more of this side of him as an actor.) It's also unfortunate that the story of the effect of a woman's slow death on others brings to mind a greater film, Ingmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers (1972). Pilgrim, Farewell can't hope to match up to that standard, but it's a solid and often profoundly moving work. 

We Won't Grow Old Together (Maurice Pialat, 1972)

Marlène Jobert and Jean Yanne in We Won't Grow Old Together

Cast: Marlène Jobert, Jean Yanne, Christine Fabréga, Patricia Pierangeli, Jacques Galland, Maurice Risch, Harry-Max, Muse Dalbray, Macha Méril. Screenplay: Maurice Pialat. Cinematography: Luciano Tovoli. Film editing: Bernard Dubois, Arlette Langmann. 

Now that all relationships between (and among) consenting adults can no longer be called "perverse," it's hard to find a word for that of Catherine (Marlène Jobert) and Jean (Jean Yanne) in Maurice Pialat's We Won't Grow Old Together. "Dysfunctional" comes to mind, although it has apparently been functioning for six years before we encounter them. "Sadomasochistic" is a little too clinical and reductive for their on-again, off-again pairing. Separately, it's easier to categorize Jean as a jerk and Catherine as a doormat, except that there's something larger and deeper about both of them. In the astonishing scene in which Catherine sits blank-faced while Jean spews out a torrent of abuse, denouncing everything about her from her looks to her family to aimlessness in life, we project our own emotions about what it would be like to undergo such a barrage of insults, only to realize that her blankness, her lack of affect, her failure to fight back, is a way of asserting her control over him. When we meet Jean's beautiful, competent, and independent wife, Françoise (Macha Méril), we realize that his urge to dominate and abuse Catherine stems from a sense of his own inadequacy. We Won't Grow Old Together, a title that admits failure from the outset, is a complex psychological portrait, perhaps too complex for the medium of film, which makes it at once fascinating and abhorrent. 

Volavérunt (Bigas Luna, 1999)

Aitana Sánchez-Guión in Volavérunt

La Maja Desnuda, by Francisco de Goya

Volavérunt, by Francisco de Goya

Cast: Aitana Sánchez-Guión, Penélope Cruz, Jordi Mollà, Jorge Perugorría, Stefania Sandrelli, Empar Ferrer, Zoe Berriatúa, Jean-Marie Juan, Olivier Achard, Fermí Reixach. Screenplay: Cuca Canals, Bigas Luna, based on a novel by Jean-Louis Benoît. Cinematography: Paco Femenia. Production design: Koldo Vallés. Film editing: Kenout Peltier. Music: Alberto García Demestres. 

Bigas Luna's Volavérunt tries to be several different things before finally settling down as perhaps the least interesting of them. It's an erotic fable, or a historical pageant, or a dramatization of an incident in the life of an artist, or a tale of political intrigue, before it finally becomes a whodunit. The title, which means "they have flown," refers perhaps most directly to one of Francisco de Goya's Caprichos, the artist's series of satirical etchings, which depicts his patron and perhaps mistress the Duchess of Alba, in flight with a group of grotesques at her feet. In the film, he shows his sketch of the scene to the duchess in response to her wish to fly. Which she might well desire, given that the duchess played by Aitana Sánchez-Guión is having an affair not only with Goya (Jorge Perugorría) but also with the Spanish prime minister Manuel de Godoy (Jordi Mollà), who is also having an affair with Queen Maria Luisa (Stefania Sandrelli). Meanwhile, Goya is painting a pair of portraits of a reclining woman, in one of which she is clothed and in the other nude. He is using as a model Godoy's mistress Pepita Tudó (Penélope Cruz), but the face in the finished portraits is not hers, leading to speculation that the model was actually the duchess. But this famous artistic mystery fades into the background of the movie when the duchess suddenly dies. Luna turns Godoy and Goya into detectives, out to solve the mystery of the duchess's death. Ultimately, the film collapses under the weight of too much historical speculation, both political and artistic, with only the colorful setting and the vivid performances of Sànchez-Guión, Cruz, and Sandrelli to make it memorable. 

Velvet Goldmine (Todd Haynes, 1998)

Jonathan Rhys Meyers in Velvet Goldmine

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Christian Bale, Toni Collette, Eddie Izzard, Emily Woof, Michael Feast, Janet McTeer (voice). Screenplay: Todd Haynes, James Lyons. Cinematography: Maryse Alberti. Production design: Christopher Hobbs. Costume design: Sandy Powell. Film editing: James Lyons. Music: Carter Burwell, Craig Wedren.

I used to think that if Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950), Smiles of a Summer Night (Ingmar Bergman, 1952), and 8 1/2 (Federico Fellini, 1963) could all be made into musicals, why couldn't someone do that to Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941)? I mean, aside from the fact that the only person who sings in that movie, Susan Alexander Kane, isn't very good at it, there are lots of opportunities for musical numbers. Kane himself has a scene with some dancing girls that could be turned into a production number, and Bernstein's recollection of the girl in a white dress with a white parasol could be turned into a wistful ballad. Of course, you'd probably wind up calling the musical Rosebud!, with a theme song reprised throughout. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that Todd Haynes had already made a Kane musical called Velvet Goldmine. Actually, what Haynes does is superimpose the Kane plot on a story about a reporter (Christian Bale) searching for the truth about a glam rocker, Brian Slade, aka Maxwell Demon (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), whose fake death led to a career death. The resulting movie is a bit of a muddle, especially when Haynes adds elements drawn from Oscar Wilde to the mix, but it's probably better than Rosebud! would have been, and it might even have reached greatness if Haynes had been able to secure the cooperation (and the songs) of David Bowie, as he originally wanted. As it is, it's an intriguing picture of a moment in rock history and the continuing change in attitudes about gender identity. Ewan McGregor is particularly good as Curt Wild, a figure modeled on Iggy Pop, especially considering McGregor's retreat from edgy roles like this one and the junkie in Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1996) into the Star Wars universe.    

The Magnificent Butcher (Yuen Woo-ping, 1979)

Sammo Hung in The Magnificent Butcher

Cast: Sammo Hung, Kwan Tak-hing, Yuen Biao, Wei Pai, Fan Mei-sheng, Chung Fat, Hoi Sang Lee, Fung Hak-on, JoJo Chan, Tong Ching, Chong Kam, Lam Ching-ying, Yuen Miu, Tsang Cho-lam. Screenplay: Edward Tang, Wong Jing. Cinematography: Ma Koon-wah.  Art direction: Wo Mak. Film editing: Peter Cheung. Music: Frankie Chan. 

A kung fu action comedy doesn't really need an elaborate plot, and certainly not one with the rape-murder subplot that sours Yuen Woo-ping's The Magnificent Butcher. What it needs is lots of setups for flips and feints, strikes and sweeps and rapid-fire conflict, and the rival martial arts schools of Yuen's movie set that up adequately. Mostly the movie is a showcase for Sammo Hung, the endearingly pudgy star whose agility belies his girth. I admit that I began to tire of so many choreographed confrontations, skillful as they were, and of the mugging of some of the actors, especially Fan Mei-sheng as Beggar So, but things picked up again when Hung's Butcher Wing took on Chung Fat's Wildcat, who displayed moves I haven't seen since the last time I tried to trim my cat's claws. Devotees of the discipline will relish the movie. Others may just want to sample it. 

Breaking News (Johnnie To, 2004)

Richie Jen and Kelly Chen in Breaking News

Cast: Richie Jen, Kelly Chen, Nick Cheung, Eddie Cheung, Benz Hui, Lam Suet, Yong You, Ding Haifeng, Li Haitao, Simon Yam, Alan Chiu Chung-San, Maggie Shiu, Wong Chi-wai, Wong Wah-wo. Screenplay: Chan Hing-kai, Yip Tin-shing. Cinematography: Cheng Siu-keung. Production design: Bruce Yu. Film editing: David M. Richardson. Music: Ben Cheung, Chung Chi-wing.

Johnnie To's Breaking News treats media manipulation as if it were something new, which it isn't. It's been with us at least since FDR used radio for his "fireside chats" and Adolf Hitler hired Leni Riefensthal to make Triumph of the Will (1935). But propaganda is so much a part of our life that although To's thriller tells us nothing new, it cleverly integrates it into a standard cops-and-crooks plot. When a shootout between the police and the bad guys goes wrong, media-savvy police superintendent Rebecca Fong (Kelly Chen) takes over with a double aim: to catch the criminals and to save the department's reputation. The failed shootout takes place in a bravura opening sequence, in which Cheng Siu-keung's camera travels through, around, up, and over the scene with breathtaking, apparently uninterrupted fluidity. The movie barely rests after that's over. There are a few bobbles in the movie's storytelling, and it's sometimes hard to see who's shooting whom, but we're here for the chase, the suspense, and a few laughs, so nobody who really matters will mind. 

The Green, Green Grass of Home (Hou Hsiao-hsien, 1982)

Cast: Kenny Bee, Chiang Ling, Yen Jing-Kuo, Meifeng Chen. Screenplay: Hou Hsiao-hsieng. Cinematography: Chen Kun-Hou. Art direction: Chi Kai-Cheng. Film editing: Liao Cheng-Sung. Music: Huang Mou-Shun. 

The cheerful naïveté of Hou Hsiao-hsien's third feature, The Green, Green Grass of Home, reminded me of the old Hollywood movies in which a city slicker comes to a small town where both he and the local yokels learn a few things from each other. In Hou's movie, Da-Nian (Kenny Bee) comes from Taipei to a village to teach school and immediately encounters unfamiliar attitudes and manners. Unabashedly sentimental, Hou's movie is laced with some comic scenes featuring mischievous kids, but it harps too much on a message about the necessity of being close to nature and it repetitively features an icky pop song that sounds a lot like a soft drink commercial. But it's beautifully filmed, and at its best, it affords a glimpse of what daily life might have been like in a Taiwanese village. 

The Castaways of Turtle Island (Jacques Rozier, 1976)

Jacques Villeret and Pierre Richard in The Castaways of Turtle Island

Cast: Pierre Richard, Jacques Villeret, Maurice Risch, René Gros, Bernard Dumaine, Lise Guicheron, Bernadette Palas, Maryse Viscard, Cléa de Oliveira, Alain Sarde, Jean François Balmer, Arlette Emmery. Screenplay: Jacques Rozier. Cinematography: Colin Mounier. Film editing: Jacques Rozier, Françoise Thévenot. Music: Dorival Caymmi, Nana Vasconcelos. 

The castaways of Jacques Rozier's satire on tourism don't know what they're in for, and frankly neither did I. The Castaways of Turtle Island is a grand muddle of a movie, starting with one plot line and then dropping it entirely for the main one: Two disgruntled employees at a tourist agency come up with the idea of offering something for the new breed of adventure tourist. They will find a desert island and drop their clients off there with no amenities, leaving them to fend for themselves in the manner of Robinson Crusoe. (The film was made 25 years before Survivor.) If you can endure 145 minutes of aimless humor and enigmatic characters, it's worth a watch, and at least the scenery is often lovely. But it failed to find an audience when it was originally released in France, and it's easy to see why.
 

71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance (Michael Haneke, 1994)

Lukas Miko in 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance

Cast: Gabriel Cosmin Urdes, Lukas Miko, Otto Grünmandl, Anne Bennent, Udo Samel, Branko Samarovski, Claudia Martini, Georg Friedrich, Alexander Pschill, Klaus Händl, Corina Eder, Dorothee Hartinger, Patricia Hirschbiegler, Barbara Nothegger. Screenplay: Michael Haneke. Cinematography: Christian Berger. Production design: Christoph Kanter. Film editing: Marie Homolkova. 

Is there a connection between individual violence and the collective violence of war? That seems to be the underlying question in Michael Haneke's 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance, the third film in a trilogy about what the media call "senseless violence" that also contains The Seventh Continent (1989) and Benny's Video (1992). I think it's the best of the three because it avoids the element of melodrama that tinges the other two. In its fragmentary way, it follows the lives of several people in Vienna in the days leading up to what appears to be a too familiar act of random violence: a man firing a gun into a crowd of people in the lobby of a bank and then shooting himself. Intercut with these glimpses into their ill-fated lives are TV news reports about deadly conflicts in other places, including Somalia, Northern Ireland, and Bosnia. Haneke handles it all with his usual cold distancing, only occasionally yielding to flourishes of technique, as in an extended take that consists only of a young man named Max (Lukas Miko) repeatedly batting back Ping-Pong balls fired at him by a machine. That scene goes on so long that I for one kept wanting it to end, and felt relief when it did, which is exactly the effect Haneke wants to have on the viewer's nerves and patience. 

Lilies (John Greyson, 1996)

Brent Carver in Lilies

Cast: Marcel Sabourin, Aubert Pallascio, Jason Cadieux, Danny Gilmore, Matthew Ferguson, Brent Carver, Alexander Chapman, Rémy Girard, Ian D. Clark, Gary Farmer, Robert Lalonde, John Dunn-Hill. Screenplay: Michel Marc Bouchard, based on his play. Cinematography: Daniel Jobin. Production design: Sandra Kybartas. Film editing: André Corriveau. Music: Mychael Danna. 

John Greyson's Lilies is compounded of many elements: religious hypocrisy, small town homophobia, gender fluidity, the wrong man murder mystery, the revenge drama, the prison thriller, the Saint Sebastian legend, the play-within-a-play trope from Hamlet, and a dash of homoerotic nudity. It's no surprise that it doesn't hold together, but that it's fascinating nonetheless. The premise is that a distinguished Roman Catholic bishop has come to a prison in a rural area of Quebec to hear the confession of a dying man, only to have the tables turned on him when the man turns out to not to be dying and to have a score to settle with the bishop. Moreover, the prisoners have conspired with the chaplain to stage a play that will catch the conscience of the bishop. We see the play both as it might have been staged in the confines of the prison and opened up into the wider gaze of cinema, with the male inmates playing female roles in both the play and film segments. Like most plays turned into movies, it retains the suggestion that it might have worked better on the stage, but the novelty of the concept and the skill of the performers remain. 

July Rhapsody (Ann Hui, 2002)

Karena Lam and Jacky Cheung in July Rhapsody

Cast: Jacky Cheung, Anita Mui, Karena Lam, Shaun Tam, Eric Kot, Tou Chung-hua, Jin Hui, Leung Tin, Race Wong. Screenplay: Ivy Ho. Cinematography: Kuan Pun-leung. Production design: Man Lim-Chung. Film editing: Eric Kwong. Music: Tommy Wai. 

The Lams, Yiu-kwok (Jacky Cheung) and Man-ching (Anita Mui), have been married for 20 years. They live in a cramped Hong Kong high-rise apartment with their two sons, who can hear the couple fighting through the thin walls that separate the bedrooms. They're not intense fights, but rather the mostly low-key disagreements that arise between two people who've lived together for a long time and are nursing secrets. Yin-kwok, who teaches Chinese literature at an exclusive school, feels a little resentment that his choice of a profession that he loves has deprived him of the wealth enjoyed by not only his students but also his former classmates. Then a pretty student, Choi-lam (Karena Lam), starts flirting with him. Carefree and a bit spoiled, she enjoys leading him on. This teacher-student liaison, we discover, has a special significance for Yiu-kwok, one that figures in his own relationship with his wife and gives the narrative an extra layer. July Rhapsody is Ann Hui's variation on the domestic melodrama that arises from the familiar midlife crisis, lifted above its genre by lyrical elements and sensitive performances.

Female Perversions (Susan Streitfeld, 1996)

Tilda Swinton in Female Perversions

Cast: Tilda Swinton, Amy Madigan, Karen Sillas, Frances Fisher, Clancy Brown, Laila Robins, John Diehl, Paulina Porizkova, Dale Shuger. Screenplay: Julie Hébert, Susan Streitfeld, based on a book by Louise J. Kaplan. Cinematography: Teresa Medina. Production design: Missy Stewart. Film editing: Curtiss Clayton, Leo Trombetta. Music: Debbie Wiseman. 

Susan Streitfeld's Female Perversions lays on its theme with a trowel: The complaisance of women pervades and perverts their lives, from the beginning when the lawyer Eve Stephens (Tilda Swinton) submits to the male gaze of a panel of judges through the somewhat ambiguous revelations about her father to the conclusion when she rescues a girl from her own self-disgust. It's unabashedly a feminist fable -- not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that Eve's story (yes, we get the name) is involving enough to embody the theme without an overlay of obvious symbolism and the surreal exploration of her dreams and fantasies. Still, the film might be what we need when men in power are trying to restore the straight rich white man as our normative figure.

92 in the Shade (Thomas McGuane, 1975)

 

Margot Kidder and Peter Fonda in 92 in the Shade

Cast: Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Margot Kidder, Burgess Meredith, Harry Dean Stanton, Elizabeth Ashley, Sylvia Miles, William Hickey, Louise Latham, Joe Spinell. Screenplay: Thomas McGuane, based on his novel. Cinematography: Michael C. Butler. Film editing: Ed Rothkowitz. Music: Michael J. Lewis. 

Thomas McGuane's 92 in the Shade feels like a souped-up home movie, as if he had invited a group of his friends down to Key West to smoke weed and act out scenes from his novel. The movie is all set-up and no delivery, the set-up being the efforts of Tom Skelton (Peter Fonda) to muscle in on the business of taking tourists on fishing trips that has been monopolized by the team of Carter (Harry Dean Stanton) and Dance (Warren Oates). The rest is a collection of incidents involving oddball characters played by scene stealers like Burgess Meredith, Elizabeth Ashley, Sylvia Miles, and William Hickey, though Joe Spinell manages to steal more scenes than any of them. Eventually, the movie has to end, a problem that McGuane solved by filming at least three endings, only one of which, the darkest, I have seen. It's the kind of film that could only have been made in the 1970s, the heyday of stoner movies, which means that its audience today is probably limited to film historians, curiosity seekers, and aging potheads. 

It Felt Like Love (Eliza Hittman, 2013)

Ronen Rubinstein and Gina Piersanti in It Felt Like Love

Cast: Gina Piersanti, Giovanna Salimeni, Ronen Rubinstein, Kevin Anthony Ryan, Nyck Caution, Nicolas Rosen, Case Prime. Screenplay: Eliza Hittman. Cinematography: Sean Porter. Production design: James Boxer. Film editing: Scott Cummings, Carlos Marques-Marcet. 

Eliza Hittman's first feature, It Felt Like Love, is a dip into the hormonal stew of adolescence, centered on 14-year-old Lisa (Gina Piersanti), who wants to be like her older but not wiser friend Chiara (Giovanna Salimeni). It's summer, and the girls don't have much to do besides hang out on the beach, while Chiara goes through a series of boyfriends. Taking her cues from her friend, Lisa singles out Sammy (Ronen Rubinstein), who works in a convenience store, and makes a play for him that ends in an awkward sexual encounter. There's not much more to the film than that, but Hittman, working on a shoestring budget, manages to craft an edgy portrait of a time in life when desire dangerously encounters possibility.  

The Boys From Fengkuei (Hou Hsiao-hsien, 1983)

Cast: Doze Niu, Chang Shih, Chao Peng-chue, Lin Hsiu-ling, Chen Shu-fang, Jang Chuen-fang, Tuo Tsung-hua, Hou Hsao-hsien, Lang Li-yin. Screenplay: Chu T'ien-wen. Cinematography: Chen Kunhou. Film editing: Liao Ching-song. Music: Jonathan Lee, Su Lai. 

Like the boys of its title, Hou Hsiao-hsien's The Boys From Fengkuei isn't going anywhere in particular. The boys are in a kind of limbo, out of school and waiting to be called up for military service, spending the time as adolescence segues into adulthood by goofing off and getting into fights. It centers on Ah-ching (Doze Niu), the most thoughtful of the group, but also the one who gets them in trouble with the police, spurring their departure from the small town of Fengkuei to the larger port city of Kaohsiung where they manage to do a little growing up. A colorful coming-of-age movie, its strengths lie in the way it universalizes its particulars, capturing an epoch in the boys' lives and vividly depicting its Taiwanese setting.

True Chronicles of the Blida Joinville Psychiatric Hospital ... (Abdenour Zahzah, 2024)

Alexandre Desane in True Chronicles of the Blida Joinville Psychiatric Hospital ...

Cast: Alexandre Desane, Gérard Debouche, Nicolas Dromard, Omar Boulakirba, Amal Kateb, Catherine Boskowitz, Chahrazad Kracheni, Kader Affak. Screenplay: Abdenour Zahzah. Cinematography: Aurélien Py. Film editing: Youcef Abba, Abdenour Zahzah. 

The full title is True Chronicles of the Blida Joinville Psychiatric Hospital in the Last Century, When Dr Frantz Fanon Was Head of the Fifth Ward Between 1953 and 1956. Which pretty much tells you that the film is a docudrama about the work of the revolutionary intellectual during a crucial period of his life. Fanon, played by Alexandre Desane, came to work at the Algerian mental institution when the conflict between the colonizing French and the Algerian people was nearing a flashpoint. He found a hospital in the grip of antique psychotherapeutic practices and racist assumptions by the French doctors in charge. His work transformed the hospital and drew attention to his ideas about the mental damage done by racism and colonialism not only to the native Algerians but also to the French who were occupying their country. It's a sober film, a series of incidents with no leavening humor or narrative suspense, but a provocative one even today, as racial stereotyping and inflexible ideology continue to afflict even those of us who oppose them. 

The Escapist (Rupert Wyatt, 2008)

Joseph Fiennes, Brian Cox, Liam Cunningham, and Seu Jorge in The Escapist

Cast: Brian Cox, Damian Lewis, Joseph Fiennes, Seu Jorge, Liam Cunningham, Dominic Cooper, Steven Mackintosh. Screenplay: Rupert Wyatt, Daniel Hardy. Cinematography: Philipp Blaubach. Production design: Jim Furlong. Film editing: Joe Walker. Music: Benjamin Wallfisch. 

Prison break movies tend to fall into three types: the moral fable like A Man Escaped (Robert Bresson, 1956), the technical thriller like Escape From Alcatraz (Don Siegel, 1979) and Le Trou (Jacques Becker, 1960), and the sentimental melodrama like The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont, 1994). The Escapist tries to be all three, which results in something of a muddle. Director and co-writer Rupert Wyatt intercuts the drama leading up to the escape with scenes from the escape itself, which challenges the viewer to keep track of time and place. This scrambling of the narrative serves a purpose which is revealed at the end of the film, at the risk of alienating the viewer. Fortunately, he has an ensemble of fine actors, headed by Brian Cox, who make things watchable even amid the confusion and occasional implausibility.  

Bona (Lino Brocka, 1980)

Nora Aunor and Phillip Salvador in Bona

Cast: Nora Aunor, Phillip Salvador, Marissa Delgado, Raquel Monteza, Venchito Galvez, Rustica Carpio, Nanding Josef, Spanky Manikan. Screenplay: Cenen Ramones. Cinematography: Conrado Baltazar. Art direction: Joey Luna. Film editing: Augusto Salvador. Music: Max Jocson, Lutgardo Labad.

Nora Aunor, who was a superstar in the Philippines, gives a fine performance in the title role of Bona, Lino Brocka's portrait of toxic masculinity. Hanging out on the fringes of a location shoot for an action movie, Bona develops a crush on Gardo (Phillip Salvador), a good-looking bit player who has aspirations to stardom. Gardo notices her and starts letting her run errands for him, but when she neglects her duties in her large working class household, her irascible father (Venchito Galvez), beats her with his belt. Bona moves into Gardo's shack in the Manila slums, serving as his housekeeper. He's a drunk and a layabout with a succession of girlfriends, but he's not as given to violence as Bona's father -- or, as we will see, her older brother. Their relationship gradually disintegrates until, expelled from her family and threatened with abandonment by Gardo, Bona finally takes revenge. It's a solid domestic melodrama given bite and purpose by Brocka's characteristic attention to the actuality of life on the fringes of Philippine society. 

The Seventh Continent (Michael Haneke, 1989)

Cast: Birgit Doll, Dieter Berner, Leni Tanzer, Udo Samel, Silvia Fenz, Elisabeth Rath, Georg Friedrich. Screenplay: Michael Haneke, Johanna Teicht. Cinematography: Anton Peschke. Production design: Rudolf Czettel. Film editing: Marie Homolkova. 

In The Seventh Continent, Michael Haneke reveals himself as a mannerist filmmaker, relying more on camera and editing technique than on conventional narrative and characterization. He knows precisely how to manipulate the audience, realizing that they're likely to have a visceral reaction to images of tropical fish flopping in their death throes, money being flushed down a toilet, or perfectly good clothing and furniture being ripped to shreds and smashed wantonly, and that their reaction has a greater emotional immediacy than the fate of his human characters. He only trusts that the audience will realize the enormity of their reactions afterward. The problem, I think, is that his mannerisms become almost comic, allowing viewers to distance themselves from whatever Haneke may be trying to say about existential ennui or whatever else motivates the ordinary family in his film to do the terrible thing they do. 

Near Orouët (Jacques Rozier, 1971)

Cast: Caroline Cartier, Danièle Croisy, Françoise Guégan, Patrick Verde, Bernard Menez. Screenplay: Jacques Rozier. Cinematography: Colin Mounier. Film editing: Odile Faillot, Jacques Rozier. Music: Daevid Allen, Gong, Gilli Smyth.

Jacques Rozier's Near Orouët is about the summer vacation of three young women on the Atlantic near the village of Orouët, the name of which (pronounced with a final T) seems to set these Parisians into fits of giggles -- but then almost everything does. This is a giddy account of nothing more than their summer of sunning, eating, drinking, sailing, horseback riding, flirting with one young man, and tormenting another. The tormented one is Gilbert (Bernard Menez) who during the rest of the year works in a small office as the supervisor of one of the women, Joëlle (Danièle). Obviously smitten, he shows up uninvited after learning where she is vacationing, but his attempt to ingratiate himself with her and her friends is thwarted by the arrival of a more handsome and self-possessed young man, Patrick (Patrick Verde), who has a sailboat. The film is a trifle, one of those movies that expect you to enjoy getting to know the characters. But it's also two and a half hours long, so by the time it ends you may have become better acquainted with the three young women than you wanted to be. 

Miami Blues (George Armitage, 1990)

Alec Baldwin in Miami Blues

Cast: Alec Baldwin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Fred Ward, Charles Napier, Nora Dunn, José Pérez, Obba Babatundé, Shirley Stoler. Screenplay: George Armitage, based on a novel by Charles Willeford. Cinematography: Tak Fujimoto. Production design: Maher Ahmad. Film editing: Craig McKay. Music: Gary Chang. 

Miami Blues is one of those movies that just miss. Alec Baldwin's ex-con comes to Miami because it seems like a good place to start over, which he does with some deft larceny (and some incidental manslaughter) at the airport. He checks into a hotel and asks the bellhop to procure him a woman, who turns out to be Jennifer Jason Leigh's sunny, naïve hooker. Meanwhile, he captures the attention of Fred Ward's scruffy cop, and the three of them begin a playful but sometimes brutal interaction. The movie has all the elements: a cast working at top form, a story with some amusing reversals of expectation, a gallery of quirky supporting characters, and a colorful milieu. The three leads are all cheerful caricatures drawn from crime fiction, but reality overlaps the caricature and the tone of the movie goes sour, turning it  darker and heavier than it really wants to be.

Bully (Larry Clark, 2001)

Nick Stahl and Brad Renfro in Bully

Cast: Brad Renfro, Bijou Phillips, Rachel Miner, Nick Stahl, Michael Pitt, Leo Fitzpatrick, Kelli Garner, Daniel Franzese, Natalie Paulding, Jessica Sutta, Ed Amatrudo, Steve Raulerson, Judy Clayton, Alan Lilly, Irene B. Colletti. Screenplay: David McKenna, Roger Pullis, based on a book by Jim Schutze. Cinematography: Steve Gainer. Production design: Linda Burton. Film editing: Andrew Hafitz. 

Is Larry Clark's Bully sleazy exploitation, or is it a dark tragicomedy? That it might be both suggests a failure of the filmmakers to maintain a consistent tone. The first part of the film clearly seems designed to shock and titillate, as we get to know the coterie of teenagers that has formed around Bobby (Nick Stahl) and his so-called best friend, Marty (Brad Renfro), who are locked in a sadomasochistic relationship. Blasting hard-core rap on their radios, they cruise their Florida neighborhoods in search of sex and drugs. They find a lot of both, and the sex is generously depicted on screen. But then the film turns in another direction as Marty's girlfriend, Lisa (Rachel Miner), begins to see Bobby as a threat to her relationship with Marty. She takes the process of eliminating that threat to its extreme: murder. The film then tilts into black comedy, as the inept, drug-addled gang develops a plot to off Bobby. But then it veers back into something like reality when their plot almost accidentally succeeds and the members of the gang sober up enough to be aware of what they've done. I think Bully would have been received more generously if Clark had treated the sex scenes more discreetly, giving some in the audience an excuse to dismiss it as semi-pornographic. But the film, which is based on an actual case, still has the power to disturb. 

China Moon (John Bailey, 1994)

Ed Harris and Madeleine Stowe in China Moon

Cast: Ed Harris, Madeleine Stowe, Benicio Del Toro, Charles Dance, Patricia Healey, Tim Powell, Pruitt Taylor Vince. Screenplay: Roy Carlson. Cinematography: Willy Kurant. Production design: Conrad E. Angone. Film editing: Carol Littleton, Jill Savitt. Music: George Fenton.

John Bailey's China Moon is a  neo-noir with perhaps a few too many plot twists for its own good. It asks us to believe that a police detective (Ed Harris) who is shown to be keenly observant in the opening scenes of the movie should be so easily hoodwinked into a dangerous situation by a femme fatale (Madeleine Stowe). It also asks us to put up with an awful Southern accent assumed by Charles Dance in the role of the femme fatale's nasty husband. But if you can suspend disbelief for those things, it's a tolerable if forgettable movie.  

Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett, 1978)

Kaycee Moore and Henry G. Sanders in Killer of Sheep

Cast: Henry G. Sanders, Kaycee Moore, Charles Bracy, Angela Burnett, Eugene Cherry, Jack Drummond, Delores Farley. Screenplay: Charles Burnett. Cinematography: Charles Burnett. Film editing: Charles Burnett. 

"Poetic" is not a word I like to use about movies, but it's the one that comes most to mind in thinking about Charles Burnett's Killer of Sheep. Great poetry often comes from juxtaposition and irony, and Burnett's film is full of such things. For example, the scene in which Stan (Henry G. Sanders) and his friend return wearily from an ill-fated task, lugging a motor down some stairs and into a truck, only to have it tumble from the truck bed and crash into ruin. As they trudge home, children are leaping in perilous freedom from rooftop to rooftop over their heads. The image needs no exposition; it lingers in the mind for what it is, a scene pregnant with symbolic truth. Throughout the film, songs are played, sometimes diagetically, as in the dance of Stan and his wife (Kaycee Moore) to a phonograph record of "This Bitter Earth" by Dinah Washington pictured above, but also nondiagetically, throughout the film, with the words of the songs resonating both directly and ironically with the images. This is an almost documentary portrait of life in the Los Angeles ghetto of Watts, inspired by the Italian neorealists, with a mostly nonprofessional cast drawn from its residents. Its poetry comes from a personal vision, and producer-writer-director-editor Burnett's vision is a powerful and haunting one. 

The Shrouds (David Cronenberg, 2024)

 

Cast: Vincent Cassel, Diane Kruger, Guy Pearce, Sandrine Holt, Elizabeth Saunders, Jennifer Dale, Eric Weinthal, Jeff Yung, Ingvar Sigurdsson. Vyslav Krystyan, Matt Willis, Steve Switzman. Screenplay: David Cronenberg. Cinematography: Douglas Koch. Production design: Carol Spier. Film editing: Christopher Donaldson. Music: Howard Shore.

David Cronenberg's The Shrouds is a film for those who think we've made a Faustian bargain with technology, or that no good invention goes unpunished. Not that the invention by Cronenberg's protagonist, Karsh Relikh (Vincent Cassel), is necessarily a good one. I, for one, can't imagine enough people wanting to see their loved one rotting in the grave to warrant investment in a technology that allows them to do that. But take that premise for what it is: a way of commenting on the downside of any new so-called technological advancement, from the internal combustion engine to the atomic bomb to artificial intelligence. The point of Cronenberg's story, told through horror movie tropes, is that the human factor, lust and greed, pervades any attempt to transcend human limitations. As a movie, it's not especially satisfying, given that Cronenberg hasn't created any characters that elicit our sympathies. But as a fable, it has a dark power and truth.  

The Big Night (Joseph Losey, 1951)

Philip Bourneuf, Dorothy Comingore, and John Drew Barrymore in The Big Night

Cast: John Drew Barrymore, Preston Foster, Joan Lorring, Howard St. John, Dorothy Comingore, Philip Bourneuf, Howland Chamberlain, Myron Healey, Emile Meyer, Mauri Leighton. Screenplay: Joseph Losey, Stanley Ellin, based on a novel by Ellin. Cinematography: Hal Mohr. Art direction: Nicolai Remisoff. Film editing: Edward Mann. Music: Lyn Murray. 

An odd little noir, Joseph Losey's The Big Night begins with an exposition full of enigmas. We learn that it's George La Main's (John Drew Barrymore) 17th birthday, and that his father, Andy (Preston Foster), who owns a small bar, has bought them tickets to a prize fight. We see George reading a newspaper column by Al Judge (Howard St. John). But when he asks his father if Frances (or perhaps Francis -- the spelling in the closed caption reinforces the ambiguity) is going with them, the answer is evasive. And then, just as his father brings out a birthday cake and George blows out all of the candles but one, none other than Al Judge enters the bar and orders George's father to take off his shirt. "Show me some skin!" he commands, insisting that Andy remove his undershirt as well. Then he beats the submissive, prostrate Andy with his cane. Movies of the era didn't get much more homoerotically sadomasochistic than this, and there's more rather kinky stuff to come. The rest of this strange film takes its short time (75 minutes) to inform George (and us) what's really going on. In its day, reviewers mostly dismissed The Big Night as a routine melodrama. Now we know that Losey was about to go onto the blacklist and into exile (along with a couple of the movie's uncredited screenwriters, Hugo Butler and Ring Lardner Jr.), so it's tempting to interpret it as a fable about American postwar paranoia, homophobia, and even, in one remarkable scene, racism. Time does curious things to art. 

Eureka (Nicolas Roeg, 1983)

Gene Hackman in Eureka 

Cast: Gene Hackman, Theresa Russell, Rutger Hauer, Jane Lapotaire, Mickey Rourke, Ed Lauter, Joe Pesci, Helena Kallianotes, Cavan Kendall, Corin Redgrave, Joe Spinell. Screenplay: Paul Mayersberg, based on a book by Marshall Houts. Cinematography: Alex Thomson. Production design: Michael Seymour. Film editing: Tony Lawson. Music: Stanley Myers. 

I'm pretty sure what Nicolas Roeg had in mind when he made Eureka were those blockbuster melodramas of the 1940s and '50s based on doorstop bestsellers with a touch of scandal, like Kings Row (Sam Wood, 1942, Duel in the Sun (King Vidor et al., 1946), and Written on the Wind (Douglas Sirk, 1956). They danced on the edge of what the Production Code would allow, but Roeg wasn't hindered by that. Still, he managed to get an X rating slapped on the movie (for, of all things, violence) that was only one of the reasons Eureka was pulled from distribution and failed at the box office. It didn't receive much approval from critics, either, although today there are some who think it an overlooked classic. Gene Hackman plays a prospector who strikes it rich when he discovers gold, buys an island in the Caribbean, and has a daughter (Theresa Russell) who marries a Frenchman. That's where his troubles have compounded by the time the film gets done with the backstory of his gold strike. Everybody wants a piece of his fortune, including his son-in-law (Rutger Hauer) and the mob, headed by a gangster named Mayakofsky (Joe Pesci). The whole thing culminates in a murder and a big trial scene that includes one of the most improbable cross-examinations I've ever seen in a movie. Oh, and there's also a voodoo orgy for good measure. It's a mess, barely held together by Hackman's professionalism as an actor, but it has the kind of perverse fascination that only a movie mess possesses.

Fruitvale Station (Ryan Coogler, 2013)

Michael B. Jordan in Fruitvale Station

Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Melonie Diaz, Octavia Spencer, Kevin Durand, Chad Michael Murray, Ahna O'Reilly, Ariana Neal, Keenan Coogler, Trestin George, Joey Oglesby, Michael James, Marjorie Crump-Shears. Screenplay: Ryan Coogler. Cinematography: Rachel Morrison. Production design: Hannah Beachler. Film editing: Claudia Costello, Michael P. Shawver. Music: Ludwig Göransson. 

As long as it stays true to its neorealist roots, Ryan Coogler's Fruitvale Station is a very good movie indeed, and one that has proved a harbinger of better movies to come in Coogler's career. It goes soft in casting actors like Octavia Spencer and Kevin Durand in roles that bring attention to their familiarity amid less-familiar faces. (Michael B. Jordan has become a familiar face, but was comparatively unknown at the time.) It also indulges in a little too much sentimentality, as in the stray dog scene, and some unnecessary coincidence, as in the reappearance of Katie (Ahna O'Reilly), the woman Oscar helps in the market, on the BART train that night. Perhaps the biggest mistake, however, is in turning the film into a  biopic of Oscar Grant. By focusing on Grant's backstory the film blunts the points it makes about racism, the training of police, and the dynamic of crowds. Oscar Grant certainly didn't deserve to die that night, but then no one did. Still, it's a meaningful film, with fine performances by Jordan, Spencer, Melonie Diaz, and the very young Ariana Neal as Oscar's daughter. It's also a skillfully made one, especially in its editing and in the mercifully subtle score by Ludwig Göransson. 

Benny's Video (Michael Haneke, 1992)

Arno Frisch in Benny's Video

Cast: Arno Frisch, Angela Winkler, Ulrich Mūhe, Ingrid Stassner, Stephanie Brehme, Stefan Polasek. Screenplay: Michael Haneke. Cinematography: Christian Berger. Production design: Christoph Kanter. Film editing: Maria Homolkova. 

Sometimes I admire the unsparing vision of Michael Haneke's films, and sometimes I think he's just bullying us. I felt that way at the beginning of Benny's Video when he showed the slaughter of a hog twice in succession. Later, when I knew why he did it, I felt more accepting. And yet, by the end of the film, when a sort of justice is done to his characters, who are both disturbed and disturbing, I felt nothing but a kind of resentment at being toyed with for 110 minutes. Haneke is a great manipulator, able to make you believe in his characters and the ghastly situations they put themselves in, but to what end? If that's an objection, it could probably be made of any number of great filmmakers, starting with Alfred Hitchcock, but why do I feel that in films like Benny's Video Haneke represents the decadence of an art form, and not what he seems to be trying to suggest: the decadence of our civilization?